


Eating Relief

by shreddingstars



Category: Agents of Cracked
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shreddingstars/pseuds/shreddingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is possibly crazy, and Michael's not really acting all that crazy. It has to be opposite day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eating Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. I wrote this back in 2011. Have it in all of its unbeta'd embarrassing glory.
> 
> *Note: Before it's recent remodeling, Disneyland's Matterhorn used to have two-person seats in which one person had to sit between the other person's legs. This will make sense eventually.

A spray of seawater hits a unwitting surfer as the computer – screen, hard drive, mouse, keyboard, _everything_ – crashes into the Pacific. The man screams and curses, and Dan adds another item to his Possible Things He Might Have Done To Deserve Michael list.  
  
 _38.) Stole three quarters from money jar to give to his brother in exchange for the wire of a bra at eight years old._  
  
And oh, how he'd loved that wire. Wasn't good to use for certain... things since the edges were kind of sharp, but it had one supported the actual boob of an actual woman and goddammit it was more than enough. Even when he found out that the bra it was from had been stolen from a Goodwill bin after the local crazy owl lady, whose talon scars in some places were just _unreal_ , had snapped it off under her shirt and dropped it in on the last year's Donation Day. His boners kind of had a tingly weirdness behind them after that, even after he'd been introduced to real porn, but you take what you get, y'know?  
  
But back to the whole “deserving this” thing. People are staring at them. Dan's sure that this is breaking some trippy West Coast law about computer safety or protecting fish. And Michael is tossing around confetti he got from God knows where and proudly boasting about what great computer buddies they're going to be now.  
  
“Think about it, Dan, my man. You. Me. Typing. Same computer. Same time! See? I even threw out my own computer right now so we could start as soon as we get back! It's not even yours this time! And you know what else? You know what else?”  
  
Dan's eyes are fixed on the water and the ocean breeze is pricking the back of his neck, but all he can imagine are his hands squished between Michael's as he tries to type. Michael's breath hot on his ear. Something, _something_ that he doesn't want to think about pressing to the small of his back because obviously Michael's going to make him sit on his lap and dammit he knows that and all he can type out on the imaginary screen is “ _agonyagonyagony_ ” over and over again and oh. It's painful. It's horrible. Out of nowhere, his brain suddenly decides to label it the Worst Thing Ever although he doesn't quite believe himself.  
  
Thus, since he's currently not believing himself, his brain's command to _RUN AWAY NOW_ goes unheeded, or possibly heeded in two seconds because Michael's looking at him strangely now. Like Sarge when his old war leg wound starts acting up and he goes into flashback mode. Or a serial killer.  
  
“Dan? Dan? Daaaaaaaaaaaaan? And you know what else? Ask me Dan! Ask me what I'm gonna do now that we're computer buddies!” he's saying.  
  
“What,” Dan mouths.  
  
Michael smiles, and it's even worse than the strange look. Michael's smiles are never insane. Happy, proud, all-too-genuine, but never crazy like Dan wishes they were. They're more like... radioactive sunshine. Dan can almost feel his skin burning as Michael reaches behind him and whips out two little pieces of paper.  
  
“I'm going to Disneyland! And I'm taking you with me!”  
  
And now Dan has a new Worst Thing Ever. Disneyland with Michael makes him want to throw up. He can see that pretty little pink castle burning to the ground now. He can see smiles melting right off the faces of happy parents and children everywhere. He can see fireworks in the shapes of waterguns and shamrocks, because Michael would make that happen if he could, and he probably can. People will glare at him whenever he visits the Disneyland memorial they'll build. The Saddest Memorial on Earth.  
  
And it will be his fault. Not Michael's, Dan's for letting him loose in a place crawling with minors and joy. They'll probably make a movie about it and the climax will be Michael and Dan being speared or something while the audience cheers for Mickey or Peter Pan or whoever gets to be the star of the last Disney movie ever made.  
  
So no. This is not happening.  
  
“No, Michael. We have to be back to work in twenty minutes.” It's kind of weird that Dan feels proud that what he just said sounds very, very sane and nothing like the garbled mess his mind is screaming at him right now.  
  
He knows he's in deep shit when Michael's smile doesn't falter at all.  
  


* * *

  
  
He's standing in line for Space (or Splash? Or Matterhorn? Or Big Thunder? Or Death?) Mountain when a single thread of sanity finally wraps around his neck and chokes him back to the present. It might have taken this long because apparently the sounds of t.A.T.u have been blasting in his left ear from Michael's Zune for the past three hours. That, or it might have to do with how his coffee tasted a bit chalky as he was driving himself and Michael back to the Cracked offices.  
  
Either way, the acceptance that the nightmare in this place of dreams is now real comes rather quickly, and he stays quiet as Michael yammers on about grass or something. When the other man turns his head to glare a passing Belle from Beauty and the Beast, Dan brings his shoulder to his ear and nudges the earbud out.  
  
“Thumbelina is the hottest Disney princess. She, I, and the end of a headphone jack are going to run away and make sweet love someday,” Michael says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Dan only nods, admiring a bed of flowers planted nearby. Lavenders. Maybe Michael will make them start talking one day like in Alice in Wonderland.  
  
“Think about how she's gonna scream, man, when I twist that jack in. Corn-what's-his-face's little rice grain weenie can't even _compete_.”  
  
“Can't compete,” Dan echoes, although he's not sure Tumbelina's a Disney princess to begin with. Finally, he stops staring blankly ahead of him and looks to the side. There's a big white mountain capped with less-than-real snow, only a fraction of the size of the real mountain it was based off of. Matterhorn. They're standing in line for the Matterhorn.  
  
 _Oh God_ , Dan thinks, _not this one_.  
  


* * *

  
  
Okay, so sitting in between Michael's legs on this stupid ride is not his new new Worst Thing Ever, since the constant fear he feels for every single person and thing he sees while at Disneyland is still definitely the Worst Thing Ever. Made even worse by the fact that he is actually protective of and pitying a theme park. And wishing they were at Six Flags instead. Y'know, because half those rides would make him even sicker than he already is and he actually wouldn't mind being able to skip them because of Michael throwing wrenches in their engines or something.  
  
And the looks on the bratty teens' faces as Michael sprays water on their iPhones as they wait in line for the Riddler's Revenge might not be so bad. Serves them right for existing and being younger and cooler than Dan. They'll probably never even acquire Michaels of their own. Lucky bastards.  
  
The bobsled makes a sharp left turn and an animatronic yeti lashes out at them. Michael names it Harold.  
  
Dan hangs on tight to the rails on the bobsled and closes his eyes until the little drop that signals the ride is over jolts them open again.  
  


* * *

  
Later, they ride a steamboat called the Mark Twain around an island, and Dan tries to inject some sort of... normalness into this trip by discussing Tom Sawyer. It's only after thirty minutes have passed that Dan realizes that Michael somehow managed to turn the conversation from that to the possibility of Huckleberry Finn and Mr. Toad having tadpole lovechildren on the bayou. It takes him even longer to realize that that's _crazy_.  
  
He doesn't label label himself truly gone at that point, but he might as well.  
  


* * *

  
  
Two hours, three churros, and five turkey legs after that, Dan considers compiling another list in his head, simply titled _Coping Mechanisms_. They will be his tools, his strategies to keep Michael from pulling out the last functional part of his brain through his ear and chewing it like gum. He doesn't bother with a _Ways to Change Michael_ list.  
  
They sit in front of the little castle on Main Street, waiting for the fireworks to start. Dan doesn't like to stare at it too long because eventually he starts seeing it coated in green ooze or silly string or whatever Michael will think up to coat the structure with. After stripping it of its gold railings and selling them on the black market, of course.  
  
It's pretty unsurprising that the castle's railings are actually gold, but very surprising that Michael randomly mentioned it when they set up their spot to wait for the show. Although if Disney owns the world and Michael somehow secretly owns Disney, it's totally possible that he would know that. It must say something about how Michael’s affecting him that the scenario sounds so incredibly plausible in his head.  
  
Maybe one day, Dan will build up some amount of Michael Immunity, since his world basically revolves around the man now, and he'll be slightly normal again. But not here. Not in this brightly-colored little place that's may be only half as crazy as Michael is, but still crazy enough to keep Dan's grip on the real world from getting too tight.  
  
But then it hits him, makes a boom in his chest just as the first few fireworks explode in the sky. There has been no private property destroyed at Disneyland today. Sure, security has been eyeing them quite a lot, but Michael hasn't punched a kid or a mascot in the face or tried to swim in the Jungle Cruise river or molested Princess Tiana or anything.  
  
The thought is comforting even if he can't dare to hold onto the hope it brings him. If he did, Michael would probably eat the sighs of relief right out of his mouth.  
  
The fireworks are magical, of course, so for about twenty-two minutes Dan is forced to enjoy himself. And he must be doing a damn good job at it, too, because when Tinkerbell comes “flying" over the castle, he only smiles and remembers his childhood trips to Disney World on the East Coast with his parents instead of lapsing into a horrible hallucination of Michael rigging the ropes keeping her in the air to snap mid-flight.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Hey, Michael?”  
  
“Yeah, Dan, goodbuddyoldpal? If it's a hug you want, I could try, but it might kill one or more people because I'm driving right now. Although I could probably drive with my feet if I wanted.”  
  
Dan ignores the niggling voice in the back of his head screaming at him for being so out of it that he let Michael drive twice.  
  
“Uh, no thanks. But y'know... this is probably the most normal thing we've ever done together. As in, you didn't try to wet-willy someone or some other weird, you-ish thing. Why?”  
  
“Because me and places that are some kind of magic are like, totally cool with each other.”  
  
Dan stares at Michael for a few seconds, then sighs and leans back into his seat. The rest of his night is spent rationalizing how exactly Disneyland could be the only place where Michael is relatively non-destructive instead of dreading the beating he's going to get from the Chief tomorrow for the destruction of a company-owned computer and the use of company funds to buy tickets to a theme park.  
  
Miles behind them, a gaggle of Disney techies groan and mutter amongst themselves and make a vow to hunt down the smartass who rigged Space Mountain to run backwards as a joke.


End file.
